


For The Nights I Can't Remember

by bionic



Series: A Work In Progress [3]
Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-15
Updated: 2010-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-07 07:29:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bionic/pseuds/bionic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Making up for lost time. Sequel to How Many Words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For The Nights I Can't Remember

When David opened his eyes, it was 6 a.m. and on this side of the ocean, the sun wasn’t up yet, the sky outside still a dark, dawning blue. In the week that he’d been back stateside, he had trouble waking up at the right time. His internal clock had almost fully adjusted itself, but it was still jarring most mornings and he’d always be up a few hours sooner than intended. Today was no exception. David sighed, peeled out from under the blankets and walked over to the balcony overlooking the quiet street outside.

  
L.A. was kind of his home now. He called it home, and on the plane ride back from Paris, the last stop on his small European tour, he’d thought of the lights and the smog and the sunshine as home, his little apartment tucked away in the hillside was home. He had hoped Cook had remembered to water the plants, as often as he could, of course, and that he remembered to lock the door, even though the possibility of someone burglarizing his place was slim to none, not where he lived. As soon as the wheels had hit the tarmac and the plane eased into its landing, David was on the phone with Cook’s voicemail, his words jumbling together from exhaustion, but he'd gotten the message across: he had arrived in one piece, and he was ready to sleep for a week.

  
Cook had called him as he was getting his luggage. David had been busy trying to look for his suitcases and wasn’t really paying attention to what Cook was saying, just grateful to hear his voice again, and the thought that Cook was in the city, close enough that David could hop a cab and be there and see him, was a huge relief and a welcome change to the past two months. Cook had mentioned going to Oklahoma for a few days to visit family, and David had kept the disappointment out of his voice while he made him promise to drop by as soon as he was back.

  
Cook’s plane had arrived the night before. David walked back inside and grabbed his cell off the nightstand, checking for messages. He wondered if it was still too early to call and if he really cared. The jerk hadn’t even sent a text to say he was back in town.

  
He waited three rings before Cook’s crackly voice filled the line.

  
“Arch?”

  
“Hey-”

  
“It’s six in the morning,” Cook grumbled, too tired to sound exasperated. David’s mind flipped back to the rare mornings when he had woken up in Cook’s bed during the show, and Cook had been forced to sleep on the couch instead. David had always apologized and Cook had jokingly sworn that the next time David fell asleep in his room, he’d just shove him off the side and throw him a pillow for the floor. It was hard to take him seriously, since David hadn’t really been able to see past the almost comical spike of Cook’s hair, just off-center, and the way the angle of his position would leave lines from the couch on his cheek.

  
With that image, David couldn’t be mad at him even the slightest. “Oh, well. I just wanted to check that you made it in all right.”

  
“’Course, ‘m fine, Arch. Just let me sleep a few more hours ‘n I’ll come over, sound good?”

  
David glanced outside at the slowly brightening sky and grimaced. He felt a bit silly now, calling Cook at the crack of dawn. “M’kay, sleep well.”

  
He tried to go back to bed, but only succeeded in tossing and turning for an hour. Finally he got up and took a shower and brushed his teeth, took his time studying his broadening shoulders in the mirror, more bronzed from the outdoor venues. Would Cook still like them, like he used to? Two months wasn’t a lot of time apart, but in David’s world, in their whatever-they-called-it relationship, if they could even call it that, he knew a lot could change in that time.

  
David made a face at his reflection and pulled on a pair of khaki shorts and a white undershirt. He told himself he wouldn’t think like that anymore, and he knew deep down, Cook would still like his shoulders if he came back red as a tomato.

  
But some things were hard to forget, especially the feeling of your heart cracking down the middle. It wasn’t long ago when the world David thought he knew had slipped from under his feet with what felt like the momentum of an avalanche, tumbling until things got so beyond his control, all he had been able to do was watch Cook slip away.

  
Later, when Cook had kept his word and David had received that call from him in New York, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t let that happen again. They had been rebuilding their relationship ever since, and David was happier than he’d been in a while, that perfect eighteenth birthday celebration or no. He wasn’t going to push things faster than either of them could run.

  
As he waited, David spent the Saturday morning watching cartoons and eating cereal. He pulled out a crossword book Cook had given him for the plane ride and worked on it for a short while before his attention wandered and he started doodling in the margins. A good ten minutes passed before he realized he’d scribbled ‘DC’ all over the page.

  
It felt almost good, surprisingly teenaged as it was. He grinned and left the book open where it was when Cook knocked at the door.

  
“You sent for mail-order bride?” Cook asked by way of hello in his smarmiest Russian accent, and David wanted to roll his eyes but he couldn’t because Cook had grabbed him and was squeezing him to his chest, and anyway, the look would be wasted. David squeezed him just as hard, loving the tight curl of Cook’s arms around his back, and pulled away first, his hands slipping down Cook’s arms to circle his wrists as he pulled him into the apartment.

  
He watched out of the corner of his eye as Cook raised an eyebrow at the crossword book but made no comment. Well, he’d _tried_, and now he was blushing not because Cook would be teasing him for it, but because Cook didn’t seem interested enough to call David out.

  
“How’s your family?” David asked and led him into the rather large kitchen. He hadn’t been eating much but take out and ramen since he got back, so everything was relatively spotless.

  
He opened the fridge and grabbed two sodas so that he had something to do with his hands, handing one to Cook.

  
“Splendid,” Cook said and popped the top. He tossed the key David had given him for house sitting into the little bowl by the toaster. David took a sip of his drink, then set his can on the counter and leaned back on both hands. Cook quirked an eyebrow and said, “You look sort of different.”

  
“More worldly?” David asked. Cook started laughing, and _god_, David had missed his laugh, too, along with the unruly morning hair and the feel of his arms and the warmth of his chest. David wanted to feel it all again. He had the crazy, desperate sensation that he’d die if he didn’t.

  
“Mmm, maybe.” Cook said suspiciously. He leaned across to put his soda next to David’s and both hands came to rest on the counter, one on each side of David’s hips. David shifted on his feet and couldn’t help the way he looked down shyly – it had been two months, _two months_, and now Cook was here and it was more intense than he thought it would be. Cook leaned down and tilted his head a fraction.

  
“I gotta tell ya’,” Cook pitched his voice low, and David peeked up at him through his lashes. He licked his lips nervously at the familiar rumble of Cook’s soft baritone – he had missed that, too.

  
Cook lifted David’s face up and watched his eyes go unfocused.

  
“You were sorely missed,” he whispered against David’s lips, and kissed him.

  
David believed it wholeheartedly.

 

* * *

  
Saturday afternoon went by in a flash. They grabbed lunch at the deli around the corner, baseball caps pulled low and sunglasses in place, and then Cook had the bright idea to go swimming. David flat-out refused and lied that he’d gotten badly sunburned during the tour, and Cook didn’t want him to get skin cancer, did he?

  
They decided to stay in and hang out at David’s apartment. Cook immediately commandeered the remote and flipped to the Discovery channel. Mythbusters was playing and they were arguing about the probability of lightning striking someone with a large metal hoop through their tongue.

  
“Come _on_, it’s not like you haven’t seen this episode before,” David said and rolled his eyes. Cook just shook his head and tapped the remote against his thigh.

  
“This is why I never watch television with you, Archie. You don’t appreciate the mind-numbing experience.”

  
David grabbed the remote out of his hand and switched to Disney, just out spite. He could hear Cook choking on a sudden burst of laughter.

  
“Seriously?” Cook said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and a big grin on his face. “I _did_ suggest we do something _fun_ earlier, you know.”

  
“Skin cancer,” was all David had to say, and Cook sighed and shut up.

  
And even though Hannah Montana was kind of cute, in a really weird, sisterly way, but also kind of annoying in that same way, it was actually probably worse than watching a rerun of Mythbusters. David saw that Cook had similar feelings with the disinterested way he was slouching into the couch, his eyes roaming over the ceiling.

  
“What are you looking at?” David finally asked. Cook shrugged and continued looking up. David barely managed to contain his flinch when Cook’s fingers slowly started walking up the side of his thigh.

  
“Cook,” David said. The fingers were creeping towards his inner thigh now, and David was pretty sure they were sitting far enough away from each other that Cook was having to stretch his arm out awkwardly for this particular move. As if on cue, Cook wiggled a little and was inches closer now, his eyes still on the ceiling.

  
“Cook!” David warned. He didn’t like the small smile tugging at Cook’s mouth, or the way he wouldn’t _look_ at him. “If you-” David started and was about to push the offending hand away when suddenly Cook was on him, his fingers dancing up and down David’s sides, tickling him like it was World War III.

  
“Oh my _gosh_ – Coo-k!” He was laughing too hard to breathe, and Cook was big, he was really big. He was pushing David into the cushions and completely dwarfing him. David could feel the heat coming off of his body, smell shampoo from an earlier shower. Hell, Cook was practically humping his thigh, with the way he was covering him.

  
“Come on, Arch, I haven’t tickled you in forever!”

  
David guiltily wanted to goad him on some more. Cook’s voice was loud and breathy in his ear. The way he said David’s name was making him flush. He would’ve had a greater appreciation for their positions if Cook hadn’t been tickling him to death.

  
“Sto-Stop! STOP!” David yelled, and was answered with “Nuh-uh! Say uncle, saaayyy it-” And David had tears coming out of his tightly closed eyes, “Uncl-uncle! Oh my – _uncle_!”

  
Cook finally sat back on his heels, kneeling with his socked feet on David’s couch. He had a smug smirk on his face.

  
“That will never _not_ be amusing.”

  
David had to catch his breath before he could speak. He stayed lying on the couch with his neck craned at an awkward angle against the armrest, and scowled up at him.

  
“OK, I promise never to watch the Disney channel when you’re in the room ever again.”

  
“Mmm, not good enough.” Cook said and his smile grew. David frowned and said, “What? What do you mean? I’d give up Hannah Montana for you!”

  
It took David a while to realize Cook wasn’t laughing when he should have been. Instead, he had this soft look on his face, similar to the one he had that one time when he might’ve smoked some of Jason’s stash and was convinced he had been floating on a literal cloud shaped like a nine.

  
David got a little worried. “Cook?”

  
That seemed to snap him out of it, because a moment later, David was being pressed deeper into the cushions, Cook’s warm weight covering him like a large, moving blanket. His eyes were bright and clear, and so incredibly green. David opened his mouth to speak but Cook sealed his lips in a sharp, rough kiss, and then David’s thoughts started running together a bit after that.

  
In the bedroom, David’s head was spinning too much to be anxious or nervous about Cook undressing him. He mirrored his actions and grabbed for Cook’s shirt, lifting it over his head and tossing it on the floor.

  
David was moving before Cook could, and he pushed Cook down onto his bed, focusing enough to be able to remember the moment for a long time, the way Cook scooted up against the headboard, eyes on David all the while, and the dazed look on his face. The way the jeans he wore were too long and covered most of his feet, but _god_, those jeans were sex, how they pulled taut across the open-v of Cook’s crotch. David would look at his face but then his gaze would inexplicably be dragged back down to his lap, and Cook noticed. He grinned and reached over to tug him onto the bed, his fingers curling in David’s belt loops.

  
“Shorts off,” he instructed. David took them off slowly, surprised how he fully enjoyed the feel of Cook’s eyes leisurely roaming downward on his body. David could feel a slight flush creeping up his neck under the attention, but when he looked up, Cook’s face was completely open and rapt.

  
“Come here,” he said, and David crawled forward on hands and knees.

 

* * *

  
In the bedroom, hours later. The pillows were bunched up beneath Cook and David was sort of mourning the state of his bed. The sheets would have to be washed soon.

  
For the moment, he was content to just stay there and soak up more of Cook’s warmth, his scent, tasting the slight tang of come when he brushed his lips against Cook’s own.

  
He loved the feel of Cook’s strong, calloused hands skirting over his chest, the ever present stubble Cook rubbed along the curve where David’s neck met shoulder, and he loved most of all the way everything felt so effortless, like someone had cut the strings binding their arms and legs and they were now moving of their own volition, falling into each other easily. David could get lost in his dark blue sheets, sandwiched between Cook’s broad, pale chest and the fluffy comforter.

  
“Dinner?” Cook asked and hugged him closer to his chest. He rubbed his chin along the top of David’s head and David could feel the brief poke of Cook’s nose smelling his hair.

  
David nodded once and pressed his face against Cook’s neck. “Dinner.”

  
But he made sure to pepper kisses all over his shoulders, chest, and stomach before dinner happened, so that when they sat down to eat the Chinese that’d been delivered, Cook was scratching his neck and adjusting his jeans every five minutes.

  
David felt like he had gotten some small revenge for the tickling.

 

* * *

  
Cook only went to the church because David had dragged him, in the literal sense. He whined that Sundays were meant to be “lazy” and “relaxing” and he did not feel like dressing up and showing his mug in public, Sunday least of all days. But to David, Cook’s excuses went in one ear and out the other.

  
“It’s important to me,” David said simply, and Cook closed his mouth and got changed into something more than boxers and a t-shirt.

  
It took a bit more cajoling after that when Cook saw that David had called a cab to take them. Cook gave him a pleading look.

  
David said, “It’s new, I don’t know where it is,” and tried to apologize with a smile and a hug before he pushed Cook into the backseat and gave the driver the address.

  
The church was new, but that wasn’t the reason why David picked it. He knew there would probably be less people there for Sunday service than most places, considering where the church was supposedly located and the relatively little he had heard about it.

  
When they pulled up, David said, “Oh.” and even Cook couldn’t contain the apparent awe on his face. Whoever designed the building had simplicity in mind, along with elegant lines and beautiful white stonework. The steps leading up to the giant brass-knocker doors had a psalm carved into them, and when they stepped inside, only a few heads were bowed in silent prayer.

  
“I think we missed the service,” Cook whispered. He walked the few steps to David’s side and touched his shoulder, pointing at an empty row of pews.

  
They sat down quietly and Cook nudged him with his elbow.

  
“You want to get out of here then?”

  
David looked at him. “What? We just got here.”

  
“Yeah, but nothing’s going on. Unless you want to sit and pray.”

  
“I do,” David said, and the overwhelming note of conviction in his voice made Cook bow his head.

  
“Sorry, I know this means a lot to you,” Cook whispered after a brief silence.

  
David reached over and grabbed his hand. He laced their fingers together and thought of how right and good it would feel one day to be able to do this, standing up in front of everyone in the pews and before his family and his friends, with all their eyes on them, and not feel one ounce of guilt.

  
The thought struck him out of far, far left field, so far out he couldn’t have even seen it coming until it was on him. His cheeks flushed hot and pink and he was glad that Cook was looking at the floor and not at him.

  
“Uhm,” Cook said and cleared his throat delicately, which was still a bit loud in the quiet church. “How long-?”

  
David leaned over and whispered, breath slightly shaky. “I-I love you.”

  
He watched with sudden butterflies in his stomach as Cook slowly raised his head. Then Cook blinked at him and his mouth fell partially open. David saw his throat working but no words were coming out.

  
His tongue tripped up. “You don’t have to- don’t think you-”

  
Cook squeezed his hand and all of a sudden, he was on his feet, dragging David outside through the heavy oak doors that shut behind them with a groaning sound of heavy wood.

  
“You can’t just – _say_ that, and expect me to just sit there,” Cook said. David was going to apologize for saying it, he really was, even if he wasn’t sorry in the least bit, but if it made Cook feel better.

  
“No, I meant-”

  
“No,” Cook said, and then, more gently, “Shut up,” as he kissed him, soft and slow, with the sun glowing gentle and warm against David’s back.

  
“Sorry,” Cook said after they pulled apart. He looked back at the door and smiled, a little sheepish. “I couldn’t do that in – there.”

  
David beamed up at him and felt a bolt of courage.

  
“Maybe one day.”

  
He paused as Cook took in the words, then he began walking before Cook could respond. “I think there’s a cool shisha bar around here!” which he completely made up, not that he smoked anything at all, ever, to begin with, but it threw Cook off the subject.

 

* * *

  
Sunday night, in the bedroom. They had a busy week ahead, for the both of them. Cook was eating the last of his Chinese and slurping lo-mein like he was sucking down oxygen.

  
“Jeez, could you _be_ any louder?” David asked. After spending a majority of the weekend with Cook, he was back to being almost completely comfortable with teasing him and throwing out the occasional light jab. Cook’s face lit up like it always did when David poked fun at him.

  
“You’re jealous because your lemon chicken blows – everyone knows you don’t get it if you can’t finish it.” Cook was referring to the horrible chewy, rubber-like consistency of the chicken after sitting inside a microwave for a few minutes, but David had been kind of busy rendering Cook breathless when Cook had placed the order, and he was barely able to contain his own groping urges much less ponder food selection.

  
“Ha,” David said and crossed his arms, pouting. Cook ‘aww’-ed and held up a chopstick-full of noodles. David grumped, Cook waved the noodles around, and he couldn’t resist the sweet curl of Cook’s lips or the cute way his eyes lit up when David leaned in.

  
He tentatively stuck out his tongue and made delicate work of slurping in the noodles, one lick at a time. Cook watched the excruciatingly slow process until the amused look in his eyes changed into a cool smolder.

  
He waited until David finished chewing, then he took a deep breath and practically threw the noodles on the floor.

  
“Fuck,” Cook breathed and kissed David senseless. He pulled back only to say, “What if I love you – ” with a hesitant voice and closed eyes. “God, David, _what if I love you_?”

  
And David didn’t have an answer for that. Tried to show him, though, what those words meant to him. Grabbed Cook around the collar and pulled him down on top of him, because even if he had the courage to say it earlier, at the moment David was too afraid to speak.

  
So he kissed him, let his tongue slide against Cook’s own, his mouth soft and warm, and the only way he could see this going was into the glowing, setting sunlight, and he wondered if for once Cook saw it too.

the end.


End file.
